


all the days

by ivorysteel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, day in the life of house stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorysteel/pseuds/ivorysteel
Summary: A Day in the life of House Stark, from their point of view.Including Throbb fluff, pissed off Arya, and Sansa and Theon team-ups.





	all the days

**Waking Up – Ned**

Eddard Stark often wondered if he enjoyed waking up more than anyone else in Westeros. For most people, he knew, dreaming was better than reality. But for him, and his dreams of iron thrones and Arya dancing and his wife in the Vale, his reality was much more inviting.

 

     Instead of a throne, he woke to a feather bed, with furs draped over his chest. His wife was half-awake next to him, Rickon tucked under her arm. And instead of dancing with strange men, he could Arya yelling from the yard. He didn’t know why she was awake – or yelling something about _his sisters rode dragons too, JON –_ but he didn’t mind much. He made a note to ask Maester Luwin about his daughter’s strange sleep habits and then rolled over to face his wife as she woke up fully, smiling at him.

 

      “Arya?” She asked, softly, as to not wake Rickon.

 

      “She woke you too?” Ned sighed. “That girl  - if she’s not fighting with Sansa, she’s yelling across Winterfell. And if she’s being quiet for once, she’s probably doing something she shouldn’t.” Catelyn laughed and the sound warmed him.

 

     “Our terrible, terrible, children,” she said. It was their little joke, one they’d had since Robb was a boy and he’d eaten Sansa’s birthday cake and thrown flour in Jon’s hair. Their children were good, and kind, and sweet, but gods they could be terrible at times. Not in the way Ned had heard his Robert’s son, Joffrey, was, but in an odd way that worried him sometimes.

 

     Sansa had developed an odd interest in the Targaryen dynasty of late and was often spouting facts about some bloodthirsty old king or power-hungry queen.

 

      “I suppose we’d better wake the others. If Arya and Jon are up, they’ll be wanting breakfast soon.” Ned ignored Catelyn’s wince at the mention of Jon’s name. _Years of hatred_ , he thought, _and on what grounds?_ He often had to remind himself that he would endanger the whole of his house if he even wrote his secret down. Too many of Varys’ little birds, even in the North.

 

     Catelyn stretched out and planted a small kiss on Rickon’s curls. He looked more and more like Robb every day. But whereas Robb was proud, Rickon was wild. He was barely four years old and yet he terrorised his siblings like even Lyanna hadn’t.

 

     “Do you have any plans for today, my lord?” Catelyn asked. “I was going to ask if you wanted to ride with me today. The children have lessons and training, but nothing important. And I’m sure your duties can be left for one day.”

 

     “We haven’t been riding in months.” Ned leaned forward to kiss her, and Rickon roused from between them, reaching out. Ned took one of his clenched fists and cradled his son close to him. He so rarely slept in their bed nowadays that it was a treat when he did.

 

     “Breakfast?” Rickon asked and Ned nodded.

 

**Breakfast – Catelyn**

She often joked with Ned about their strange children but it really was true.

 

      When Robb had turned twelve, and deemed himself old enough to make his own decisions, he’d abandoned his seat beside his parents at the breakfast table and had decided to sit with Theon instead, at the furthest point away from them.

 

      Sansa had taken Robb’s place instead, glaring at her father when he gently suggested that as the next heir, Bran should sit with them. _Just because he’s a boy_ , she’d said and Arya had, for once, backed her up. So Sansa sat with them and listened intently to discussions of politics and food supplies and executions.

 

      Arya sat with Jon, as always, and was currently talking about Aegon’s sisters. Jon was listening intently, seemingly interested, but she could sense that he was somewhere else today. He often was, when surrounded by trueborn Starks. Arya was also stabbing her meal rather enthusiastically every time she mentioned a dragon.

 

      Bran was reading some book about some long-ago tourney that Luwin had found in the library for him. He’d decided that he was too old for Old Nan’s stories. Instead he spent his time reading about the adventures he wanted to go on.

 

     Rickon was sat by Theon and Robb, eating his porridge with wild abandon. He only sat by them because Theon let him have sugar on all his food and Robb would include him in their conversations. Catelyn found it too sweet, enjoyed Rickon’s giggles too much, to protest.

 

     “What are we doing today, Mother?” Sansa asked, after Ned had finished telling her about some errant bannermen.

 

     “Your father and I are going riding, alone. You’ll be in Maester Luwin’s care today. And listen to Robb. He’s in charge, too.”

 

     Bran smiled, as did Rickon and Arya, because Luwin and Robb often let them do what they wanted, but Robb frowned.

 

     “But Mother, Theon and I were going to go riding today. Since I’m allowed on my own now.”

 

     “Can’t you both go?” Sansa piped up, hopefully. Catelyn knew that Sansa wanted to sneak into Ned’s solar and read the proposals that had come for her. Luwin would be too busy to find her there, but Robb was wise to her by now.

 

     “No, no,” Ned said. “It’s a special day for Robb today.” There was a pause in which Theon and Robb exchanged confused looks – _a wife_? she thought she saw Theon mouth and Robb looked horrified. “I’ve told Ser Rodrik to allow Robb to use real steel on the training yard.”

 

     “Truly, Father?” Robb exclaimed and all thoughts of riding seemed to fly out of his head. Catelyn’s heart burst at his joy. Ned had been thinking about it, she knew, but he hadn’t made up his mind last time they spoke of it.

 

     “Truly.”

 

    “You can finally catch up to me, Stark,” Theon said, nudging him, and Robb laughed. For a second, she felt fear in her heart but dismissed it. He was almost a man grown, almost the Lord of Winterfell. Real steel was long overdue.

 

 

**Midday – Robb**

His parents had just ridden out of Winterfell, and he eagerly watched them leave, when Robb ran to find Theon.

 

    “They’re gone,” he said, attempting a low sultry kind of voice. He had heard Theon use it many times, on kitchen maids, on whores, on Ros until she laughed at him. He’d never used it on Robb. When he was talking to Robb, he used a soft, gentle voice, like if he spoke too loudly, something would shatter.

 

     “Are you ill?” Theon frowned. He was perched on one of the low walls in the yard, watching Jon and Arya shoot arrows. With Ned and Catelyn gone, and Bran with Luwin, there was no-one to tell her off.

 

     Robb blushed. “No, I’m…I just meant…when we went riding, we were going to…you know…but if we’re alone now anyway…”

 

    “We’re not alone,” Theon pointed out, nodding towards Jon and Arya. “The bastard might give us some alone time. But Arya’s too curious to not want to see why we’re hiding away. And Sansa will come and find you and try to convince you to pick Lord Stark’s lock. And Rickon and Bran burst into our rooms at the most inopportune times.”

 

     _And if Master Luwin found us, or Ser Rodrik_ …Robb finished for him. He trusted them, and respected them, but their duty to his father was greater than their duty towards him or Theon. If anyone in the household found them, Theon would be sent away. Or even lose his head.

 

     “Train with me, then,” Robb said. “Live steel. Like Father said.”

 

      “What if I hurt you?” Theon asked, but there was a spark in his eye, and he grabbed two blunted steel swords off a nearby table. Knowing him, he’d probably put them there, ready for Robb’s request.

 

     “Don’t flatter yourself.” Robb picked up the sword. It was heavy, but he was strong. He’d trained for this. He would fight in real battles someday, like his father had in Robert’s rebellion. “What do you want, Theon? Bards to sing songs about your victories?” Robb wanted that, deep down. He wanted victory and Winterfell and war. He knew Theon did, too.

 

    “I’d rather have a pretty maiden sing songs about me, right before I-”

 

    Robb would have liked to pretend that he struck so suddenly to protect Arya’s innocence but the truth was revealed in the jealousy in his stomach. Theon had easily defended himself, though. Arya and Jon turned round at the clash of metal. “Is that all you’ve got, Greyjoy?” Robb said, loudly so the whole yard could hear.

 

     “You’ll regret that, Stark,” Theon replied, but he was smiling, always smiling so lightly, so easily. Robb wished he could wipe that arrogant smile off his face, but with something gentler than steel, perhaps.

 

       “Make me regret it then.”

 

      Robb saw Jon roll his eyes as they rushed to meet one another, swords bared.

 

 

**Afternoon – Sansa**

Sansa would have recruited Arya to help her, if Arya wasn’t such a pig-headed cow. Sansa had told her that she was a pig-headed cow and Arya had said “well which one am I? A pig or a cow?” and Sansa had told her that she was a _horse_ and Arya had punched her in the stomach.

 

     She felt bad after when Jon gave her a reproachful look but she had just huffed and carried on walking, ignoring him. _He’s only my half-brother_ , she’d told herself, but then she’d felt even more guilty. It was all Arya’s fault, as usual. She was so stupid that she didn’t even realise when Sansa was coming to her for help.

 

     Sansa had recruited Theon instead.

 

     “If Robb finds us, I’m going to say that you blackmailed me,” he told her, wiggling the lock on Ned Stark’s solar door. She rolled her eyes. If Robb had found her picking the lock, he would have told on her. But if he found Theon, he wouldn’t say a word. Not when Theon could get sent away for breaking into a private Stark room.

 

    And the household were distracted. Luwin was with Rickon and Bran in the godswood, trying to teach them how to swim without actually getting into the hot springs himself. Rodrik was sparring with Robb and Jon – she could hear the sounds of their fight from the window. And the rest of the household wouldn’t disturb them. Especially since she pinned signs on the corridors saying that they were off limits.

 

      Arya would have liked the plan. She would have found it fun. If she’d even bothered to listen to Sansa explaining it. It’s like she just assumed Sansa was insipid.

 

    “Robb won’t find us,” she told Theon. “It’s nothing big, anyway. I just want to see if I can make Father betroth me to Loras Tyrell.”

 

    Theon rolled his eyes at that. “I don’t see why you love him so much. I’ve heard he’s more _romantic_ than you.”

 

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sansa frowned.

 

     “Nothing, little sister,” Theon said but in a sing-song voice. She shoved him. She hated when he called her that. She almost reminded him that he was a ward, not her brother, but she’d felt guilty enough today and she wanted him to finish the job. “There, I’m in. Wait – how are you going to lock it back up when you leave? You don’t know how.”

 

     “I’m not. You are.”

 

     “Sansa!” Theon groaned, glancing behind him. She darted into the room when he wasn’t looking. “So, I’m the look-out, now?”

 

     “Yes. Shut up.”

 

     She was looking for the rose sigil, or maybe a lion for a Lannister cousin. Or even a sun for Dorne. All of them great kingdoms with handsome young knights and princes and lords. Then she found something even better.

 

     A stag. _No_. _A crowned stag_. She tore open the letter and scanned the contents. “Theon!” She called out and he peered in.

 

    “What?”

 

    “I’m going to be the queen.”

 

 

**Dinner – Arya**

Sansa was being more irritating than usual.

 

      Arya had told her mother that Sansa had called her a horse and when Catelyn reprimanded her, Sansa had apologised with a sickly sweet voice, instead of kicking Arya under the table like she normally did.

 

      And when Ned asked Sansa if she wanted to know about the new Karstark baby and what he would inherit, Sansa asked him about Southern politics instead.

 

      Since it was dinner, Robb was forced to sit on the other side of his father but wasn’t taking any interest in the conversation about Cersei Lannister’s rights as queen. Every five minutes, he would make up some excuse and wander down to the lower tables, to mutter violently to Theon. Theon would whisper back and Robb would then be summoned back up to their table by their mother. It was funny for the first half hour but then it got annoying.

 

     “What is so important that you have to keep interrupting dinner?” Arya snapped, when Robb got up again. He stared at her, surprised. She had the bad luck of sitting next to him tonight, since Bran and Rickon were already in bed. She didn’t even have Jon to keep her company. At dinner, he sat with Theon and the rest of the household.

 

     “Nothing,” he said and abruptly sat down in his seat again. But that just meant his stare was burning a hole into Theon’s head.

 

    “Gods, _go_ , then!” Arya pinched his arm and he yelped, pouting at her.

 

      “You’re in a foul mood tonight, Arya,” he announced loudly. He said something to their mother and left to sit with Theon, pouring himself some ale.

 

     She _was_ in a bad mood. And it wasn’t just because of Sansa’s newfound superiority, or Robb’s insistence on following Theon like a duckling, or even because Jon was unfairly banished to the lower tables. It was because she’d been practicing with her archery – and she was better than anyone in Winterfell, except Theon, she was sure of it – when her parents had come back.

 

     Her father had caught her before, but this time her mother had seen her. Her mother had been in a bad mood, too. The ride mustn’t have gone well. Instead of telling her off, she’d been banned from the training yard for a week. She wasn’t even allowed to watch the boys.

 

    It wasn’t fair. Sansa had her marriage proposals because she was fair and pretty and ladylike. What would Arya do? No-one would want to marry her. She would much rather become a knight, like Ser Rodrik.

 

    She wished Sansa would go away sometimes, so Arya could be the little lady of Winterfell. She would be brash and rough and would climb trees with Bran and spar with Robb but they’d all love her, like they loved Sansa.

 

     Arya met Jon’s gaze and he pulled a face at her. She giggled. At least she had Jon. He loved her more than he loved stupid Sansa.

 

 

**Evening – Bran**

Bran hadn’t wanted to go to bed.

 

     He knew it was late, but he wasn’t a baby anymore. Not like Rickon. He was eight, old enough to practice swordplay, and learn the words of every House in Westeros. But not old enough to stay up later than half eight.

 

    He could hear dinner from his bed. If he really tried, half-dangling off his bed, he imagined he could hear individual voices. His mother and father laughing. Sansa telling tales about brave knights and princesses. Arya complaining about her dress. Robb and Jon and Theon hitting their ale cups together and making jokes he didn’t understand.

 

     Bran had heard his mother talk about Sansa’s betrothal. That meant Sansa could be leaving them soon enough. He knew he wasn’t supposed to have favourites. But Sansa was never his favourite sister. Arya played with him, and helped him with his archery. Sansa told him that he was getting her dirty. All the same, he’d miss her. She told the best stories. And once Sansa left, everyone else would start leaving, too.

 

      Robb would travel the North, with Theon maybe, to talk to bannermen and inspire loyalty. Arya would go to another castle, to train to be a true lady. Maybe even Jon would leave, once Robb had. And then Bran would have to leave to be a soldier then a knight.

 

    He liked the idea of being a knight, of wearing shining armour and fighting in tourneys against great men like Barristan Selmy and Sansa’s Knight of the Flowers. He didn’t like the idea of fighting in a battle, not like Robb liked it. Ser Rodrik said that Robb and Theon talked too much about battles for two green-boys who had never drawn blood.

 

       Bran sat up, quietly, and wondered if Rickon was sleeping. Maybe he could wake him and ask him to play, but once Rickon was woken up, he would run to find Mother. And Mother would tell them both off for being out of bed.

 

     But there was a way to play by himself without making any noise. He stole along to the window and opened the latch. His mother had locked them once, when he’d climbed out one night and given her a fright by appearing at her window. His father had thought it was funny, but he’d agreed. _No more climbing_. Bran wouldn’t make the same mistake this time. He wouldn’t climb in front of her.

 

     He clambered out of the window and scuttled up the stones towards the sloping roof just above. Once there, he could climb the tiles and run along to a flat stone parapet. He liked to sit there. _The silent guard_ , Theon had called him once. He’d said it with a smile but Bran had liked the sound of it. It sounded like someone from the Age of Heroes.

 

    Bran sat on his stone. If he stayed still for long enough, maybe the crows would come to him. Or the ravens.

 

 

**Night – Rickon**

Rickon woke up a little after midnight. He could hear the bell tolling all the way from Wintertown. He could hear a wolf, too, he thought, and suddenly the wolf was in his chambers with him, growling from underneath his bed.

 

    He thought of Old Nan’s stories and whimpered. He wasn’t like Bran; he wasn’t brave enough to stomach them.

 

     _If I move_ , he thought, _the wolf might get me_. He could almost see the bared teeth, the drool falling onto the floor. He imagined it like one of the wild dogs that sometimes found their way into Winterfell. Rabid and starving. Fear kept him lying under his blanket but then he thought of his mother. She would know what to do. If he ran quick enough, he could shut the door on the wolf and find Mother.

 

     Rickon took a deep breath and ran out of the room. He shut the door quietly behind him and left the wolf in the room. He darted down the corridor to Bran’s door first. Bran wasn’t even in bed and his window was wide open. Rickon would have looked out and called for him but he was scared of startling Bran and his brother falling to the ground.

 

     Then he went to Jon’s room. Jon was sleeping soundly, furs thrown off him. Jon always ran hotter than the rest of the Starks. Rickon considered waking him up but Jon wouldn’t take him to his mother’s room. Mother didn’t like Jon. Bran said it was because Jon was _Snow_ and not _Stark_ but Theon was a Greyjoy and Mother seemed to like him well enough.

 

      Rickon felt his way shakily down a small flight of stairs and slowly opened Arya’s door. She was sprawled across her bed, snoring, and she sounded so much like Rickon’s nightmare wolf growling that he shut her door a little louder than he meant to. Her snoring stopped and he heard her whisper _Jon_ and felt bad. But he didn’t have time to pause. He could almost see the wolf prowling around his room. Father told him not to be scared of wolves but he couldn’t help it.

 

    He ran along to Sansa’s room next. He tried to be a little quieter this time but it didn’t matter. She was awake anyway, sat in her bed reading by candlelight.

     “Rickon?” She whispered. “What’s wrong?”

 

     “What are you reading?”

 

     “Nothing.” Sansa snapped the book closed, although Rickon wouldn’t be able to read the contents anyway. He flinched back at the noise and headed out of her room. Sansa wouldn’t be able to help him anyway. She couldn’t fight. Not like…not like Robb could.

 

     Robb. Rickon ran to his room. He imagined the wolf breaking out of his chambers, chasing him. He ran into Robb’s room and slammed the door behind him. Robb yelped in surprise and Theon emerged from underneath the furs, cheeks red.

     

     “Rickon,” Robb said. “What are you doing?”

 

     “There’s a wolf.” Rickon knew he wouldn’t be able to convince them it was real. It had felt real. “Bad dreams,” he said instead. “Why’s Theon here?”

 

     “I have bad dreams too, little one,” Theon said quietly. He held his arms out and Rickon climbed onto the bed. He liked Robb’s furs. They smelt of his brother and of Theon. It was comforting. He burrowed his head into Theon’s chest. Robb leaned over and put some under-trousers on, grabbing them from the floor. Then he curled up so Rickon was nestled between them.

 

    “Do you want us to tell you a story?” Robb asked.

 

     Rickon nodded. He liked Robb’s stories. They were always about little boys going on adventures. Theon made them funny, too. They weren’t scary, like the ones Bran liked.

 

     “Once upon a time,” Theon started. He started playing with Rickon’s curls and Rickon closed his eyes. “There was a boy who got thrown to the wolves…”


End file.
